Drummer gave a heavy sigh and motioned Brad to a bench along a bulkhead. They sat and stared at the bulkhead opposite.
"How far will you go to take the Terminals?"
Drummer asked.
"Destructively?"
"Yes."
"You're in command of the combined fleet, Drummer.
You tell me."
A deep silence settled between them. Drummer brought his eyes around to where he could observe Brad's profile. His breath became shallow.
"What I now say to you, Brad, puts my life in your hands, but say it I must." He paused, as if to gather strength and conviction, and to organize his thoughts. "I believe that Narval is deranged. He would rather see the Solar System's civilization's grovel in the dust than have them advance, even survive, without him as their ruler."
"Are you suggesting he be stopped?"
"He must be."
"How?"